


Trust and Temptation

by moontear, tsukinofaerii



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moontear/pseuds/moontear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Penelo and Larsa had been friends for nearly four years when one fateful morning, Penelo found herself on the other end of a situation she never imagined for herself. Desperate and frightened, she fled Archades, and her friendship with the emperor grew strained. Now, a year later, Ashe summons her to the Rabanastren Palace. She has news for Penelo. News and orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Tender Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Rewritten from an earlier version. Also available [on FF.N](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4074932).

"For he's a jolly good fellow—" Penelo cracked into a laugh as her voice went off-key, courtesy of all the alcohol she'd consumed. It was Larsa's sixteenth birthday, and while technically the age of legal drinking in this country was eighteen, he'd been complaining of how bored he was with every year's festivities. Practically a party every night a week before his birthday, and then the entire fiasco of his birthday itself. 

Stuffy robes, mountains of presents from people he didn't even know, having to pretend that he liked every single person who sniveled up to him… 

To be honest, Penelo thought he sounded like a whiny teenager, but she understood. She would have loved to have mountains of presents every year on her birthday, sure. But she got the difference between gifts from your loved ones and useless trinkets from total strangers who knew nothing about you. 

She slumped back into their sofa on the balcony of the pub they'd occupied. Larsa was tall enough now, at least, that no one really questioned his age, despite the massive whitehead on his chin at the moment, so they'd been cruising around this part of the city with his alias Lamont. There was an imperial out front on the lookout to discourage any reckless behavior in the interior of the pub—the emperor's birthday festivities alone giving everyone the desperate desire to let loose—but there were a few undercover inside, as well. Larsa always had to have protection. 

Poor Larsa, she thought drunkenly. All awkward limbs, a bad case of acne that kept popping up… 

It was a shame his voice didn't crack anymore, that had been the absolute cutest. 

She looked over at him now, thinking about how much fun he'd had tonight. Although… "Larsa!" She nudged his knee, as he was currently sprawled out on the sofa, moaning and clutching his head. "Sit up, we're not done! Weren't you going to drink me under the table?" Out here on the balcony, the racket from inside was considerably quieter. 

He opened his eyes to peer up at her blearily. The balcony really didn't have much light, and that was most of the reason he'd chosen it as a retreat. As she watched him, a smile touched the corner of his mouth, and he reached up to tug one of her pigtails. 

"I may have realized the futility in such efforts. I never suspected a slip of a girl like you could hold as much beer as you have. By all rights, you should be floating in your boots." 

Penelo had to grin at that, pleased with his false assumptions. "I told you…" Dissolving into giggles, she closed her eyes, letting him play with her hair. It had gotten ridiculously long lately. She knew she should see about cutting it. But she liked the length… 

Humming, she shifted over, leaning over him, planting one hand near his ribs and the other beside his head. Her hair fell over her shoulders, framing his face in a veil. "But you can't sleep! It's not even eleven! There are many more hours of the night to enjoy, my friend." 

She tried to hold a straight face at that, but she wound up giggling again, half falling on top of him because she couldn't laugh and keep herself upright at the same time in her current state of mind. Oh, the joys of drinking. It wasn't something she indulged in on a regular basis, though she was not a stranger to celebratory alcohol. 

His arm came around her waist and yanked her down the rest of the way. "I am not sleeping. I am simply recovering. Soon enough, I will be back on my feet and ready to make a second go of it." He belied these words by tucking her under his chin and determinedly relaxing on the sofa. 

Penelo let out a soft breath, not moving. Warmth filled her, as warm as the breeze around them and the brilliant clear stars above. She realized she couldn't remember the last time they had simply embraced like this. When he was still shorter than her, perhaps…? 

"I don't believe you." She finds a thread on the shoulder of his shirt to play with, her lashes lowering as the exhaustion she'd been fighting back reared its ugly head. Larsa was very comfortable… very, very comfortable… 

No! It was far too soon for the night to be over! 

"You have every intention of sleeping right now," she mumbled. Her eyes drooped even further as she felt the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She'd never realized how incredibly warm he was, portable even like fire magicite. "…Larsa…" She was going to add on more to that, but her lips wouldn't move enough for any sound to come out. 

He nestled his cheek atop her head and sighed. "I would far rather stay awake…." 

She mumbled his name sleepily again, fighting to keep her eyelids open, but they just kept drooping. She lifted her head, pushing up enough to see his face, thinking maybe that that would help, if she was moving "Come on, we have to get up…" A breeze tickled her cheeks, and she lifted a hand to one of Larsa's, touching it and stroking his cheekbone. 

Penelo could remember when he was so much younger… twelve and scrawny and eager to protect her… His face changed every time she saw him. He was growing up so quickly. 

"Come on…" 

He grumbled something indecipherable and managed to pry his eyes open enough to see her. "…comfortable…" His arms tightened, stealing her breath. His look now seemed almost baleful, challenging her to pull out of his embrace. Those green eyes were peering at from beneath his long, sooty lashes, and his hands rested on the small of her back, spread over her hips. 

Penelo swallowed so hard it hurt her throat. "Larsa… Come on…" She pushed lightly on his shoulders, trying to fight the atmosphere; gods, it was difficult. Why was she so drunk, why was _he_ so drunk, why was it so comfortable and quiet out here…? "Your birthday's almost over…" 

Drowsiness and comfort prevailing, Penelo slumped a little, figuring she could rest her eyes for just a moment. Why move, when this felt so nice? She bumped her nose into his cheek and inhaled lightly, thinking anew of how warm he was. "Sleeping isn't any fun…" 

Suddenly, he groaned and wiggled beneath her, clearly making a token effort at rising. "If we must." 

Knowing she should be all for this, since she was only a moment ago, Penelo, too, tried to rise. The only problem was, the world started spinning. More liquor was _not_ the best idea. Not if she didn't want to make her hangover even worse in the late morning. So she slumped back against him, blocking all his attempts at rising. 

"Never mind," she grumbled, and she nuzzled into his neck, because it was extra warm there and he smelled nice. After that, there was nothing to do but make herself comfortable on his sprawled form, melting into all the nooks and crannies of his body, pressing close for that warmth. 

Somewhere inside the pub, hooting and hollering rose, cheers, and someone yelled for another round. 

"Sounds like they're having fun in there…" 

"Let them." The emperor's arms retightened around her, and he sank back into the couch. 

The sofa was an old thing, but it didn't smell bad, only a little like alcohol and the evening air. Tiny lights were strewn over the balcony's railing, and there were a few potted plants. It was considered the finest location in the pub, and Penelo would have been worried about such open air for Larsa, but she knew an imperial prowled the rooftop. 

Penelo was close to dozing off entirely, safe and comfortable, when she snuggled even closer to him. She kissed the nearest patch of skin, like she used to do his forehead, except this time it was his throat. 

_Oh, well,_ she thought. _It will do._

Her hand rubbed up and down along his side, like she used to soothe it through his hair years ago. Yet nothing about this was striking her as innocent. Maybe it was the alcohol, because strangely, she wasn't really bothered at the moment by that prospect. 

Larsa murmured under his breath again. Like the first time, she didn't quite catch it. "Mmmm?" Her attention was waning as sleep closed on her faster and faster. "Larsa…" Everything made so much sense in that moment, crystal clarity that she'd been struggling with for months. This nagging sensation, this feeling she couldn't place. It left her out of sorts, unknowing of what to do with him, with them, with her. 

But nothing meant more to her in that moment. 

"I love you…" she murmured on the cusp of sleep, and then she was gone.

* * *

_One year later…_

"A summons to see Ashe?" Vaan put his hands on his hips and tilted his head with an arched eyebrow. "What's that all about? And is it me, or has she gotten a bit needier lately…?" 

Penelo snorted as she put her earrings in. "Needy is _hardly_ a word I would apply to the queen, and…" She shimmied out of her pantaloons, causing Vaan to look away as she reached for the dress laid out on her bed. "…I need you to get out of here so I can change." 

Her partner was already halfway to the door. "She sent you a fancy dress _with_ the summons?" 

"Ashe is my friend, you know that, Vaan." Courtesy of some weird advice Ashe had been given approximately two years ago, Penelo found herself more often than not invited to the Rabanastre Palace for tea with the queen. 

Ashe had never struck her as a type of person who _needed_ friends, and until her advisor had stepped in, she hadn't ever really entertained the idea. Then Penelo had been called in one fateful afternoon, told in no uncertain terms that she was needed for Ashe to appear warmer to her people, and more or less arm-wrestled into their current friendship. 

Honestly, Penelo hadn't minded. Their friendship hadn't been conventional when they were traveling together, sure, but what they had now was surprisingly, touchingly, something close to normal. Penelo would appear for her teatime with Ashe once every handful of months, the two would discuss things other than politics, and both would leave with smiles, Ashe's considerably more thawed than it had been at the beginning. 

Hiding out with the Resistance for two years hadn't been particularly _warming_ for Ashe's personality, which was probably what her advisor, an older man named Tyk, was trying to fix now. At first, Penelo had been a little nervous, but that was in the past. She actually looked forward to her tea with Ashe nowadays. She got to dress up nice, eat in the fancy palace, hear Ashe's secrets that she was one hundred percent sure the woman never shared with another soul… Why, the last time she'd dined with Ashe, she'd even gotten to see the older girl blush over the thought of their blond hunk of a captain residing across the country. 

Vaan stuck his head back in when Penelo called that she was decent. "You two are actually _friends_ now, though? Like… _really_ friends? I thought Ashe was using you to make it seem like she had friends?" He ducked at the pillow Penelo lobbed at his head. 

"Maybe it was like that in the beginning—" Penelo could remember that first standoffish moment with the queen all too well, in which both of them realized they had nothing to say to each other now that the war was pretty much over "—but not anymore. We realized we shared things in common." 

"Like, what…? Do the two of you compare the hilts of your swords, which one of you has the biggest pair of magicite balls…?" 

Vaan ducked. The second pillow soared over his head and thunked into the hallway to join its brethren. 

"No, Vaan! We talk about… _girly_ things." 

The man gave her a blank look. "Ashe? Girly?" 

"You know, underneath the royal title, she _is_ still a girl. A young woman. She has hopes, dreams, thoughts, feelings. She's not just some mannequin of power on display for the country to feel at ease." Penelo sat in front of her vanity and carefully began to pile her hair on top of her head. 

"Still, it's kinda funny…" Vaan leaned against the doorway, his hands tucked into his pockets. They hadn't been home at their apartment for more than a week before the summons had arrived just that morning. "You're pretty acquainted with power figures, aren't you? Not that I'm sure Larsa counts anymore, seeing as you haven't seen him in, like, a year…" 

Hearing _his_ name, Penelo winced at her reflection. A whole year later and she still hadn't recovered from That Night. "We've both been busy, Vaan," she explained, making a show of selecting which comb to use in her hair. "It's not like Larsa needs a friend for appearances the way Ashe did." 

That was true enough. Archadians preferred their rulers on the stern side anyway, but even for that Larsa was well-liked. He hosted the usual balls and things, directed tax money to repair streets in Old Archades, and was on not-terrible terms with the rulers of other countries. As far as Solidors went, he might as well have been a saint. People loved him. 

The finger of her free hand ran over the ribbon that she always kept on her, a wide band of red silk, thick with black and gold embroidery. Usually it was on one of her pigtails, but for the visit to Ashe she'd wrapped it around her neck like a choker. After That Night she'd woken up with it around her wrist and had kept it for stupid, sentimental reasons. It was nothing special, probably just a piece of ribbon from one of Larsa's birthday presents that she'd purloined, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to get rid of it.

"He wasn't too busy for you last year," Vaan grumbled, scowling down at his feet in the mirror. "We ought to go to Archades and—"

" _No_." Keeping one hand atop her head to hold her hair in place, Penelo twisted on the padded bench to glare at him. "We _ought_ to do nothing. He's an _emperor_ , Vaan, we don't have any right to monopolize his time." 

Vaan's jaw set stubbornly. "He's our _friend_."

"He _was_ our friend," she corrected, as gently as she could. "Let it go."

Angry blue eyes held hers. For a second, Penelo feared she would have to tell Vaan the whole story, explain how _Larsa_ wasn't the one being avoidant. But then Vaan would never stop teasing her. Or worse, he'd want them to make up. She couldn't do that, couldn't smile and talk and pretend that it didn't ache.

Eventually, Vaan folded, shoulders hunching in and eyes sliding to the side. "Fine. Just—don't get too attached to the palace, okay? I can't afford one with my job."

That was enough to make her smile, which had probably been what Vaan intended. "I promise." Turning back to her hair, she picked the silver and turquoise comb shaped like a galbana lily, tucking it in to hold her curls in place. "You know me. Palaces are nice to visit, but I'd hate having to live in one."

"Good." Coming up behind her, Vaan bent over to kiss her cheek. "I'll leave you to get prettied up. Go show those nobles what a Rabanstran girl is made of. After you're done we'll meet up with Migelo for _real_ food" 

Laughing, Penelo poked him in the ribs, making him dance back toward the floor. "Deal."

* * *

As was normal for their visits, Ashe sent a carriage to pick Penelo up. It was one of the less ornate carriages, which meant that it was only a little gilded and the chocobos that pulled it weren't in the full regalia of the royal stables. Pale turquoise velvet covered plush upholstery, and ice magicite lamps combined kept the whole thing cool, even at the height of the dry season. Rabanastre would probably never have the aircab services that Archades did, but it hardly needed it. With wide streets and the circular layout, it never took very long to get where she needed to go, even in a carriage, so Penelo enjoyed the luxury while she could.

Comfortable as the carriage was for travel, it still had its downsides. People lingered on the side of the streets, trying to peer through the gauzy curtains to see who was inside. Penelo slunk down as well as her skirts would let her. No matter how many nice dresses and jewels she put on, it would never stop being embarrassing to be picked out of a crowd. At her heart, she still felt like the girl who used to help out in Migelo's shop for food and a few gil. 

It was an utter relief when the shadow of the palace walls came into view. Straightening up against the bench seat, Penelo smoothed down some imaginary wrinkles. They rolled to a stop at the palace steps, and only a second later a footman had the door open and was helping her out. As soon as she left the carriage, the sun came down on her head like a hammer, but that wasn't what caught her attention.

Just like so many places in Rabanstre, the palace was a prime example of Galtean architecture at its finest. As she always did, Penelo paused to look up at the soaring walls, admiring how the sun played over the pale stonework and friezes. Against the summer blue of the sky, it might have been made of clouds. Delicate curves and domes formed the bulk of the main structure, too light to exist outside a dream and yet too proud to be anything but real.

It took her breath away.

"My Lady Penelo." A thin, blue-veined hand touched her elbow, pulling Penelo's attention back to ground level. Light green eyes, faded with age, twinkled at her. "What a joy it is to see you again. You look lovely, my dear." 

"Advisor Meryl," Penelo smiled, laying her hand over the older woman's. "It's good to see you, too. You look like you're doing well."

That was an understatement. Even at nearly sixty, Meryl looked fit and ready to take on someone half her age. Thick white hair had been pulled back into a set of clips and then set into ringlets that tumbled over her shoulder. She'd left her flowing purple robe open to the breeze, revealing her embroidered trousers and jewel-bedecked top. The few wrinkles she had only added to her beauty; Penelo could only hope she aged so well.

"Well enough, with all these young bucks running about today," Meryl smiled, hooking Penelo's arm over hers. "Soon gone, and thank the Gods." 

"Lucky you." Penelo kept step with Meryl, but her eyes darted around, noticing some extra soldiers. There was no sign of the personal guards that would have meant Ashe was on her way, or even in the same wing. "Is the Queen busy? She usually meets me." 

One of Ashe's most trusted advisors, Meryl was one of the few that had both survived the Archadian occupation and resisted switching sides. Meryl was loyal, honest and absolutely unreadable. She just smiled wider and tightened her hold on Penelo's arm as they passed under the arched entryway. Immediately the cooling spells embedded in the palace walls took hold, cooling skin that had already started to collect sweat from just a few minutes in the sun.

"The Queen has been unfortunately delayed in meeting you," Meryl explained, without a single hint in her voice that anything was out of the ordinary. "She asked that I show you through the palace and make you comfortable as you wait."

As if Penelo hadn't walked through the Palace enough to know her way around without a guide. And Meryl was an important advisor—not someone who was sent to play escort. _Something is up._ "Delayed?" she asked, for something to say. "Those young bucks you mentioned?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Using Penelo's arm like a lead, Meryl tugged her around and up a winding staircase. The steps were covered with thick blue carpet, cushioning their footsteps so well that not even a whisper of sound escaped. "There's rumors of trouble in the wind, that's no secret, and Dalmasca has always found its strength in its friendships." 

"Ashe is _courting_?" The news was so surprising that Penelo missed the next step and almost made a fool of herself by flailing for balance. If it hadn't been for Meryl's firm grip, she would have. "She didn't tell me that she's courting!"

"Not courting," Meryl corrected, glancing over at Penelo from the corner of her eye. "A queen doesn't court, she has to choose a political alliance. But if she seems open to persuasion, well..." The corner of Meryl's mouth tugged up in a mean little smile. "Men are generous when they think you have something they want." 

All Penelo could do was shake her head, still shocked. "I... see." She didn't. Of course Ashe would have to marry eventually, probably as part of some sort of political alliance. She'd put it off until Rabanastre was stable, but she wouldn't be able to do it for long. That much she'd confessed to Penelo over their many teas together. 

But she couldn't imagine Ashe playing coquette. Not _Ashe_. Trying to picture it sent Penelo's mind into freefall. She wasn't the sort to bat her eyelashes and flirt, not even for a cause. Penelo wasn't even sure Ashe knew she _had_ feminine wiles. 

"And here we are," Meryl announced, pushing open a door to a spacious room, decorated with soft-looking furniture and a decorative waterfall. 

It was lovely, but what mattered to her was that it wasn't Ashe's sitting room, which was where they usually had their tea. Penelo stepped inside, looking around for a hint of a clue. Wide windows stood open to the breeze, and a set of double doors had been left open to show off an array of exotic flowers growing on the balcony. There was no sign of the usual tea service, or even a plate of snacks to tide her over while she waited.

"This is—" Penelo turned just in time to have the door slammed in her face. A key scraped in the lock with the loud deliberation of someone making sure it was heard. Knowing it was foolish, she still rushed to the door and tried the handle. It didn't turn at all. 

As a last effort, she pounded her fist on the door. "Meryl! This is not making me comfortable!" 

She heard a latch open and whirled to discover a servant making her way out of a side door, pushing aside a tapestry. _Sneaky,_ Penelo thought, wondering why it was necessary. She held her breath as the servant came to her, silently gesturing that she follow. 

_What the heck?_

Penelo gave a last glance back at her prison bars, then followed the young woman. Stepping through the secret side door let her into a room that was practically a mirror of the first. This time, though, there was a table with a tea set laid out, and an ornate table cloth covering its surface. It billowed in the breeze coming off the balcony. 

There were no doors in this room except the one she'd just come from. 

What made her breath catch was not only the sight of Ashe, sitting with a tea cup in her hand and fresh steam coming off its top, but… 

Her heart began pounding. 

"Larsa," she managed to gasp out. It felt like someone had grabbed her throat and was trying to squeeze it to a pulp. The ribbon she'd tied around her neck was not helping that sensation, and she tugged at it a little to loosen it. 

Good gods above, her palms were sweating, and the small of her back was damp. She could feel every thud of her heart in her ears. This was… not good… at all… 

_At all._

"Hello, Penelo," he greeted her smoothly, though she could not help but notice there was no warmth in those green eyes of his. He, too, was holding a tea cup, looking for all the world like he belonged in the palace and not halfway across the world. He'd even dressed for the desert climes, his tunic made of a light fabric that was belted at his waist with a scarlet cloth. 

"Your face has cleared up," was all she could manage, and then it took effort not to kick herself. _Your face has cleared up? **Really** , Penelo?_ She hadn't seen the man in a year—not since That Night—and the first thing she says—

There was a choking noise, and Penelo's eyes flew to Ashe in time to see the queen covering her mouth and politely apologizing. 

_Something's going on._ Avoiding Larsa entirely, Penelo came over to the table, and the servant moved to pull her seat for her. Thanking her out of habit, even though she wasn't really supposed to talk to the staff, Penelo smoothed her hands over her skirts again. Her fingers, she noticed distantly, were shaking. 

"I can't help but feel like something sinister's going on," Penelo blurted, her nerves getting the better of her for a second time. 

"Do not be ridiculous, Penelo, you are among friends." Eyeing her curiously, Ashe set her cup down and lifted a plate of pastries. "Lord Larsa was kind enough to bring some of his Rozarrian chocolates Al-Cid sent him. But first, try a scone." 

Penelo took one more out of numbness than anything else. She tried eyeballing Ashe to see what the other woman was thinking, but the queen's face was expertly wiped clean. That did _not_ sit well with Penelo, as Ashe knew the sordid details of That Night. 

She hadn't wanted to talk about it, not initially. She'd squirmed when Ashe had brought up the emperor, and, of course, Ashe had fastened onto that like a hound with a bone. She'd expertly pried the truth out of Penelo, and then Penelo had wanted to die a thousand deaths, but Ashe had _promised_ never to bring it up again. 

Yet here Larsa was! In this very same room! And for _some reason_ , Ashe had felt that Penelo's presence was necessary! 

It was taking all of Penelo's willpower not to bolt through the door she'd just come from. 

"Al-Cid does have good chocolates," she squeaked. She could feel Larsa's eyes boring into the side of her head, and her hand sloshed her tea a little as she lifted the cup. Cursing herself inwardly, she took a tentative sip, her eyes roaming around the room since Ashe wasn't giving her anything and she had to avoid Larsa's gaze at all costs. 

Ashe lowered the next plate, one with the chocolates, once it became obvious Penelo wasn't treating herself. It was the height of rudeness not to accept one, but Penelo's mind was far from etiquette. It kept wandering back to that morning a year ago, when that horrible hangover had been pounding at her temples, and she'd… 

No, she couldn't relive it, she _couldn't_ , especially not _now_. She'd buried That Night in a box, deep under the ground, with mounds of earth on top of it. Flowers had grown over it. It was best left undisturbed. 

"Um…" She didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. Ashe _really_ wasn't helping her with this, either. 

Penelo's throat was dry enough that it was like she'd swallowed a mouthful of Estersand, and the tea wasn't helping her. Its spices were cloying her nose, making her think of Lowtown and her old apartment, which only added to the dryness. She just couldn't believe Ashe had betrayed her like this; Ashe, whom she thought had become a _real friend_ … Instead, she was throwing her to the dire wolves. 

The queen shook her hair back over her shoulders, the length much longer now than it had been some five years previous. It brushed her biceps, gently framed her face on cooler days. "Penelo—" 

Penelo felt her spine straighten like a startled child about to be scolded, a habit she wasn't sure she'd ever break away from. Not around Ashe. It was bred into her, the respect for royalty. 

"As you might have guessed, today's… meeting is of great import." Ashe leaned back in her seat, her posture, as usual, perfectly perfect, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Demure. Ashe. The two did not mix, like oil and water. 

Penelo wanted to hide under the table. 

"I have some wonderful news." 

As Penelo watched Larsa stiffen and lean ever so slightly away from her, as though to brace himself, she fiddled idly with her ribbon. She rubbed her thumb over it as her nerves played ever higher. 

"Er—news?" Though said politely, inside she wanted to throttle Ashe. If the older woman didn't get out her 'news' soon—well… puking all over the beautiful china would hardly be appropriate. But that was where her swimming stomach was going to take her in about two seconds. 

Against Penelo's willpower, she slid her eyes over to Larsa, taking him in for the briefest of moments. He looked… good… No acne, a previous sign of his adolescence. His shoulders had filled out, his face had lost some of its baby fat. His nose was a little more prominent, but that was the Solidor curse and couldn't be helped. 

Quickly, her face flushing, she looked at Ashe again. It was a good move. The next thing she heard was nearly enough to make her lose her head. 

"Penelo…" Ashe reached across the table, taking Penelo's hand. The smaller of the two looked down at their linked fingers, then back at the queen. The woman had never touched her like this, ever, not in all their years of knowing each other. "I have decided, in light of your previous actions, to make you my sister." 

There was a slight edge to Ashe's smile now, one Penelo didn't immediately understand, but she pushed that aside in favor of digesting the news that was just delivered. She may as well have smacked Penelo upside the head, for all the good it was doing. 

"Sister?" 

"Yes." Ashe's fingers tightened ever so slightly around Penelo's in warning. "You are now my adopted sister, a member of the Dalmascan royal line." 

Penelo sputtered. "Bwuh—" 

The queen's eyes flicked to Larsa. "Your Grace, if you will explain the rest?" 

To Penelo's surprise, the look Larsa shot Ashe was full of daggers. "Ashelia and I are in talks to sign a mutual defense treaty. Rozarria has been sounding the borders, and Dalmasca cannot stand without an ally." 

He picked up a napkin, unfolding it. Penelo couldn't help but notice that he wasn't quite meeting her eyes. 

"Because a mutual defense treaty with such a smaller nation is, at best, risky for Archades, there have been complications." He licked his lips. "While Ashe and I are personal friends, and I have no doubt that Dalmasca would rise to Archades' aid, treaty or no, the Senate is not so sanguine." 

He finally looked up, his expression calm, a pure poker face. Penelo had always envied his ability to do that. "It was decided—Ashe and I decided—that the only way to conclude the treaty would be if a member of the Dalmascan royal family were to come stay in Archadia." 

Static. 

It was all Penelo heard. 

And then—chaos. 

The next few moments were a blur. 

All she remembered later were the looks of surprise on Ashe and Larsa's faces as she upended the table, sending precious china and platters of pastries and chocolates colliding into the marble floor. From there, she bolted for the nearest exit, but the servant was there, and in a blind rush, she went for the backup exit. 

The balcony. 

All she could see was freedom—it didn't translate to anything else. 

She couldn't go back to Archades, she couldn't go back to Archades, she couldn't go back to Archades—

It was an endless mantra in her head, bouncing off the inside of her skull, until she thought she was going to go insane. She had one leg over the balcony— 

Arms clamped about her waist, tight as they had not since the morning she left. Before she could go any further, they were dragging her back from certain doom. 

"Penelo, contain yourself!" Larsa yelled. It was the hint of desperation in his voice that jarred into her thoughts, and she came back to herself enough to realize what she was doing. 

Breathing raggedly through her nose, she stared down at the palace courtyard far, far below. She started to tremble in his arms, feeling weak suddenly, and so, so weary. She didn't understand… why her? Why would Ashe do this to her? Was this a punishment for something she wasn't aware of? 

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she let them drip off, staring numbly at the patrolling guards. They looked like toy dolls from this distance. 

Keeping a solid grip on her, Larsa pulled her back off the balcony and inside. Since the area around the table was now thick with broken glass, he took her to one of the sofas and pushed her onto it. 

"Stay there." He took in one, deep breath. "This is necessary for the good of Dalmasca, Penelo. You do understand that to resist is treason?" 

Penelo paled, staring up at him, shaken to her core. "Why me?" She rose unsteadily to her feet, ignoring his demand that she stay put. "Wasn't what you did _enough_?" 

To wake up next to him—

To wake up next to him, bare-skinned, her limbs entangled with his—all the while, knowing nothing could ever be between them—

Feelings she'd tried to bury, that she hadn't wanted to acknowledge existed, rushing to the fore as she stared down at his sleeping face… He'd been courting that princess from Rozarria, for gods' sakes! 

Yet he'd somehow—her memory was unclear on this point, due to the liquor she'd consumed—swindled into her sleeping with him despite this—when he had no intention of ever—

Penelo's throat was so, so tight, and the ribbon was suffocating where it rested. "Why are you trying to torture me, Larsa?! I don't understand! I thought we were best friends!" The words were wrenched from her throat, her shouts echoing through the room. It was unseemly to yell at an emperor—definitely punishable—but she didn't care. She _couldn't_ care, not when her emotions were so raw. 

Now, suddenly, there was trouble brewing with Rozarria? What happened to that flimsy princess? None of this was making any sense! 

"What _I_ did?" Larsa's expression turned colder, and he took a step away from her. "We were friends… once. Believe me when I say that if my hand had not been forced, I would have left you to keep running. But it has been, and there is no choice. You may refuse, if you like, but betrayal has consequences, Penelo." 

Penelo gaped at him, rising to her feet on unsteady legs. 

"Treason is not something to be tread on lightly, and the fate of a nation is hardly a gil to gamble with. But by all means—run away. You are quite accomplished at that." 

Penelo slapped him. 

She'd never considered herself a particularly violent person. Yes, she'd had her share of blood on her hands in the war, in pirating with Vaan. But it had only ever been to protect herself. Yet now, here she stood, willingly raising her hand against an emperor. 

He was right. They were no longer friends. They hadn't communicated with one another in nearly a year, not since the events of that fateful morning. 

Her throat was tight, her palm stinging. 

Ashe stepped in quickly, before the situation could evolve. "Penelo! Apologize at once!" She sent an agitated glance in Larsa's direction, silently trying to reign in Penelo's emotions. 

But Penelo wasn't having it. She knew she ought to—the repercussions of her stroke against such an important political figure alone… "What happened to Princess Lidia?" She balled her hands into fist. Her face went splotchy from her anger, which she knew wasn't an attractive sight, but she was far from caring in that moment. "Did she catch wind that you were whoring around with a Dalmascan commoner? Was the offense so great that they want war or something?!" 

Ashe covered her face in her hands and turned away. 

The emperor's jaw clenched. In what was no doubt a deliberate move, he turned his back on her. "Ashe, you know what the accord requires. The Imperial Airship leaves in three hours. If she is not aboard, I will keep to our secondary arrangement, as we discussed." Giving a bow to the queen in the room, he didn't even deign to look at Penelo as he headed for the secret entrance, which the servant had now vacated. 

Penelo was going after Larsa when Ashe seized her arm, nails digging into it like talons. 

"Penelo." Ice rang through her use of Penelo's name. 

Penelo wrenched free—if she was going to disobey one royal figure, why not the other? She stormed after her former friend. She hadn't spent nearly a year agonizing over her departure for him to walk out on her now. 

"PENELO DALMASCA!" 

If Penelo wasn't so angry, that bellowed name alone would have been enough to stop her, but all she could see was red. She got her hand around Larsa's elbow once they were in the other room. He was a lot taller than he used to be, she realized. 

"You never told me why you're doing this, Larsa! Why do you hate me?! Why are you trying to ruin my life?!" 

He finally looked at her, anger snapping in his eyes. "Why should I not? You ruined mine." Taking her hand, he forcibly pried her off him. "Go speak to your sister and make your choices." 

Stunned, Penelo could do no more than stare up at him. Then fury gathered in her chest, pulling all the emotional range she had into one singing line of energy. "You—" She could barely speak, she was so incensed. How could he do this to her? How could he claim that she ruined his life? "I gave myself to you, and this is how you—" 

"Penelo!" Ashe was there again, her hand back around Penelo's arm and dragging her away from the emperor. Penelo was pissed enough that she let it happen, knowing she'd only wind up hitting him again. "You are now a princess. Speak your words carefully." 

Penelo could have spit venom. "I want to speak to Larsa alone." 

" _Out_ of the question." 

Penelo whirled on her. "I want to speak to Larsa alone, Ashe!" 

Thunder flashed in Ashe's eyes in warning. "Absolutely not." 

"There will be time to talk in private on the airship," Larsa intoned. "If, in fact, you are there." With a last nod to Ashe, he took the leave he'd been trying to make for the past five minutes. Though Penelo was tempted to continue making a spectacle of herself, she stayed put.

"I hate you," she choked to Ashe in an undertone. 

The queen sighed, her grip relaxing. "You won't forever, Penelo." 

Now _that_ Penelo found hard to believe.


	2. Bottomless

Vaan looked like he was about to piss himself.

"You're a _princess_?"

Penelo didn't have time to talk about it. She threw her bags on her bed and began filling them up, though she had a feeling she wouldn't be allowed to wear most of her clothes once _in_ Archades. Vaan hovered like a ruffled cockatrice, pulling at his hair, squawking over his words. As far as Penelo was concerned, he wasn't worth listening to until he said something substantial.

"I just… I mean—a _princess_! Ashe _adopted_ you? Has she lost her _mind_? And you have to go to _Archades_ now?"

"Yes, Vaan," Penelo said tiredly. She loved her friend, she loved him dearly, but there were times when she just wanted him to _shut it_.

"This is too much… Oh, man…" Vaan moaned, sinking against the nearest bedpost.

"Look at the bright side." Penelo buckled up one bag and started on another. "Now you don't have to buy me a palace, after all."

"That's not _funny_." Vaan stepped into her path, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking deeply into her eyes. "Pen—Penny—if you don't want to go, you don't have—"

"I _do_ , Vaan." Hating that she had to shake him off, Penelo wrenched free and continued collecting items from her wardrobe. "They made it kinda clear that if I don't show up on the airship in an hour, it's treason."

"It's not like we've never committed crimes before… I mean… we've broken laws—"

"Not like _this_." Penelo took a deep breath. "Like it or not, I'm a princess now." She buckled up the last bag and threw both of them over her shoulder. "I'm not saying it makes any rhyme or reason, and I'm not saying it's something I want for myself—but the fact of the matter is, I _am_. So—I need you to move."

Vaan frowned at her from his new position in the doorway. "Let me talk to them, Pen. I can get you out of this."

"For the gods' sakes, Vaan, _move_!" Penelo bellowed.

Eyes rounding with hurt, Vaan complied. For once.

Though she instantly regretted her words, Penelo didn't have time to soothe his pride. She started down the stairs of their apartment, clomping noisily. There was no time for grace when she had an airship to catch. She heard Vaan come to the upstairs landing, but he didn't take a step further, and it wasn't until she had her hand on the front door that he spoke up again.

"I'll come visit once you get settled."

Penelo took another deep breath, let it out. Then she nodded a little curtly. "I'd appreciate that." Without waiting for his response, she was out in the sunlight and gone. It wasn't that she wanted to be cold to him, but she _really_ didn't have time, and Vaan could be a big baby when the opportunity struck.

He was probably just scared that he wouldn't know what to do with himself without her. At least, that was what she told herself.

* * *

The aerodome was busy when she arrived, and it made her wonder where everybody was headed. Clusters of people refused to make way for Penelo. As they talked amongst themselves, their voices rang out. She heard all strains of conversation, from the rebuilding of the windmills in the Cerobi Steppe, to whether it was wise for Archades to expand their non-hume population.

The last was said with a sneer, by a portly man with a huge moustache. Penelo scowled at him, and when she said, "Excuse me," very loudly and he didn't budge, that scowl worsened.

"Get out of my way, peasant," he said in a thick, Archadian accent. His fingers were still greasy from whatever food he'd recently consumed, and his moustache wiggled when he talked. "I've no time for the likes of you."

" _Excuse me_ , sir, but you are talking to the Honorable Princess Penelo Dalmasca!" a familiar voice chimed, and moments later, Meryl was by Penelo's side. Her face red with humiliation, she looked away, refusing to take part in this.

"Princess Penelo?" the nobleman barked. "I've heard of no such thing!"

"Seeing that you've just arrived, I've no doubt." Meryl eyed the man with great dislike, then swished her hand at him. "Now, if you'd please kindly step aside, milady has an airship to board with Emperor Larsa, and it won't do you any good to hold her back."

By now, the aerodome goers had parted like waves around Penelo. She was the center of attention, which normally didn't bother her, but it did today. She was discovering rather quickly that she didn't want to be a part of Larsa and Ashe's machinations. It left a dirty taste in her mouth.

Meryl, taking all of this firmly in stride, swept an arm in front of her. "Milady, if you will?"

The path to Larsa's docked airship was now clear, so Penelo had no choice but to move forward. Whispers followed her every step, and she ducked her head down to avoid the worst of the stares. Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of official ceremony for all of this? Instead, the news had been thrust at everyone willy nilly. The way the rumor mill worked, everyone in Rabanstre would know in a couple of hours. In some little way, she'd hoped it might stay quiet, that after Larsa and Ashe's little conspiracy was done with she might be able to go back to a normal life.

So much for that.

She did such a good job of not looking at anything or anyone that when she finally reached the airship, she stubbed her toe on the gangplank. Cursing under her breath, Penelo looked up…

And froze.

Every ship in the Imperial fleet was always a sight to behold, and the ones in the Emperor's personal fleet were even better. Penelo had flown in them a few times, back when she and Larsa were friends. Back then it hadn't been uncommon for her to hitch a ride with one that happened to be heading her way, which was surprisingly a lot for Larsa's personal ships. But those had always been small couriers, or cargo vessels at the biggest. Fancy, yes, and top of the line, but still working airships.

By comparison, Larsa's _personal_ traveling ship was just ridiculous. It was gigantic, practically a barge, towering up over her head higher than even the commercial ships that flew the standard routes. A stylized phoenix rising had been painted on the prow in the brilliant, deep scarlet of House Solidor, its flames edged in gilt that made it seem to flicker in the dim light of the docking bay. Delicate carvings swept back over the hull, edged in more gilt. Pennons hung limp from their poles, no doubt carefully selected to snap merrily in the breeze once the ship was underway.

Penelo tilted her head back to consider it, mouth twisted to the side with professional disdain. It probably took an army just to keep the thing clean. One good storm and all that pretty woodwork would be so many splinters, to say nothing of how badly gilt flaked off.

At her shoulder, Meryl cleared her throat. "Princess?"

She jumped, flinching slightly at Meryl's patient expression. Shrinking in on herself a little, she tried for an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I—sorry." Before she could get cold feet, Penelo took a deep breath, put her shoulders back, and stalked up the plank.

Inside the airship was at least not completely impractical. She'd half-expected it to be decorated with vases of flowers and knickknacks that would go rolling the second the ship took off. Plush furniture and carpets abounded, but everything seemed safely nailed down. There was still gilt everywhere, arching bay windows and even a magicite chandelier, but if she tried really hard she could pretend that it was just a better class of commercial airship. A half a dozen servants scattered around her, striving to look busy and helpful at the same time. There was no sign of Larsa.

That was probably for the best, Penelo decided. Decking him in public probably would land her in jail for treason. It wasn't worth it, no matter how satisfying it might have been. She was a princess, on her way to Archades to live with Larsa; it wasn't exactly what she'd been planning when she woke up that morning.

A pang of loss hit her as she thought of Vaan. They'd had so many plans together…

"Princess! Lady Meryl!" A fussy man, shorter than even her, bustled up from behind a desk, and interrupted her thoughts. His livery was done in the same shades of Solidor scarlet and black as the banners outside the airship, and a pair of twining snakes had been embroidered over his heart. "Lovely to see you could come, absolutely lovely! Lord Larsa said you might not be able to join us. I am Trentis. Please allow me to show you to your cabin."

Bemused by the way he buzzed around her like a bee around a flower in spring, Penelo nodded. "Thanks. I'd like that."

Trentis beamed and turned around, hurrying down one of the hallways. "Wonderful! Please, follow me."

With Meryl at her back and no escape, Penelo did as she was told.

The hallways were furnished similarly to the main lounge, with the addition of fainting couches set back in recessed alcoves in case walking was too much of a strain for the poor aristocrats. Thick black and gold carpeting padded every step, and magicite lamps were strategically placed to light up showy little indoor gardens.

The room Trentis showed her to was much, much too elaborate to be called a cabin. Massive windows let the sunlight creep in through the open dock doors—her room was so high up that the moogles working in the aerodome looked like dolls. Thick velvet curtains had been tied back, but she could see the cord that would allow them to be shut at need. Overhead a small chandelier glittered in the light that came through the window, not yet alight but still dazzling.

"This is your sitting room, your highness," Trentis explained cheerfully, waving her in through the door. "The amenities are through the door on the left, and the door on the right leads to your bedchambers should you wish for a nap. If you've need of anything, pull this cord and I'll be here in a trifle."

Meryl prowled around the room, opening both doors and peering inside, then moving back to give the furniture a suspicious poke. "I suppose it will do," she sniffed, lifting her nose into the air. Trentis wilted, but Meryl didn't seem to care as she turned back to Penelo. "Now, Princess, please do travel safe, and think well on everything you have been told this day. The Queen will be in contact with you shortly—"

"Wait!" Panicking, Penelo grabbed for Meryl's arm. "You're not coming with me?"

Something softened in the older woman's expression. Gently, she patted Penelo's hand. "I must stay here and assist the Queen. Do not worry, Princess. No matter how far the body may travel, the heart always knows the way home. Trust in that."

Tears pricked Penelo's eyes. _Don't leave me alone like this,_ she wanted to wail, but her throat was too tight to say a word. All she could do was nod and watch as the last friend she might have had slipped through the door and out of her life.

It was painful, knowing she would be so alone in Archades, with all that had fallen between Larsa and herself. Her vision blurred, and she palmed her eyes as she walked over to the small window in the sitting room. They still hadn't launched yet, and she wasn't looking forward to seeing Larsa on the journey over… because at some point, she would have to.

_When did this all turn so complicated?_ she thought.

She could still remember Larsa as a child… When he was twelve and so much shorter than her, with the future of an empire and a kingdom both hanging on his shoulders. He'd bore it admirably, never once complaining, and seemed to find comfort in her presence. That comfort had grown between them as a fledgling friendship, which had then bloomed into the most beautiful of…

Her throat tightened further, and it was all she could do to breathe. She took one step away from the window, then another, and another, the gravity of the situation finally starting to sink in. Good gods, she couldn't do this. She couldn't just _become a princess_ —she couldn't be an ambassador or whatever this charade was, parading around Archades, acting like she knew a single thing about being a royal member…

"Ashe hates me," she whispered. That had to be it. She'd joined forces with Larsa in that hatred, and now the two of them were going to see to it that she never got a moment's rest ever again. The thing of it was, she could understand _Larsa's_ wrath. But to get Ashe in on it, too? It was just too much.

She wasn't alone for very long. A knock sounded at her door, and when it hissed open, a moogle appeared a moment later. He was the pale pink of Dalmascan moogles, with a neon green bon bon and a cute little vest to match. Seeing him cheered Penelo up slightly. Though Larsa's rein was great, Archadians were still having difficulty establishing non-humes into the city of Archades. On the streets themselves, it wasn't _too_ unusual to spot a bangaa or a seeq. But for a working Imperial? It was almost unheard of.

"Excuse me, kupo." The moogle trodded over to her, flapping his wings when he reached her bed and lifting himself to its edge. Once on the massive spread, he plopped down. His bon bon swung with the motion. "My name is Jamenson, kupo. I'm here to take you to His Grace."

Penelo placed her hands on her hips, sniffling away the tears that had begun to form. "You work for the Emperor? Since when do moogles make for servants?"

At this, Jamenson puffed up, and his wings spread behind him as his eyes narrowed. He got back on his feet, as though that would make him any taller. "I-I'll have you know that I am an Imperial Advisor, kupo! And I do not appreciate your tone! Kupo-po-po!"

She had to stifle a laugh. "Sorry. It was wrong of me to assume." She came over to him, sitting on the bed beside him. "I'm used to moogles doing their own thing. You know, becoming cartographers, or repairing ruins. You must be new, because I haven't ever seen you before."

"I started six months ago, kupo." The little creature eyed her for a moment longer; then, seemingly satisfied, he ruffled his wings and shrugged. "I like the job, but sometimes I do miss the outdoors. The Imperial Palace gets a bit stuffy at times, kupo."

"Then why work there?" Penelo tilted her head curiously. "Why be an Imperial Advisor?"

"Because I'm tired of moogles and other races being discriminated upon in Archadia, kupo! Lord Larsa agrees with me, kupopo!" He hesitated after this outburst, looking both this way and that and rubbing his hands nervously in front of him. "Kupo… I shouldn't have said that so loudly…"

She waved a hand. "Who cares? Most Archadians are Grade A jerks."

He grinned sheepishly at her response. "That may be true, kupo, but I must still maintain an air of—" But he shook his head before he could finish, hopping the distance from the bed to the floor. "I've forgotten myself, kupo. We don't have very much time to chat. The Emperor would like to see you."

The second mentioning of this made Penelo's shoulders droop. For just a moment, however fleeting, she'd totally forgotten about her new predicament. With a sigh, she nodded and got up to follow him into the corridor. Great… Sure, earlier she'd wanted to talk to him in private, but that had been in the heat of the moment. Now that she'd—mostly—calmed down, she wanted as little to do with that boy as possible.

_But he's not a boy anymore,_ some traitorous part of her whispered. He was too tall for that, too muscular, too… everything.

Damn it, this trip wasn't going to be very pleasant.

* * *

Larsa's rooms were in a secluded part of the aircraft, where no servants lingered, nor any aristocrats or ship handlers. Jamenson even abandoned her at the beginning of the short corridor that led to his rooms, waving his good-bye before he zipped out of sight. Penelo was tempted to call after him, but stopped herself just in time. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. She would have _some_ pride while facing Larsa. She didn't need anyone to say the things that were all but bursting to get out of her.

There was a moment of silence after her stiff knock… and then, almost softly, "Enter."

Her heart constricted, and any amount of bravado she'd had just seconds before turned to ash in her mouth. She took a step back, shook her head, and plowed forward, the door opening at her close presence. When it shut behind her, it closed out the sounds of the engines running, leaving her alone, at last, with Larsa.

The urge to run was itching at her more strongly than ever as she stared at him. She stayed by the door, unmoving, unsure of what to say, her planned speech flying out the window as nearly as she had just three hours ago in the Rabanastran Palace. Larsa watched her just as tensely, seated at a love sofa, one ankle across his knee and a book spread open on his lap.

His surroundings were as lavish as the rest of the ship, if not more so. Imperial colors decorated every surface, and the carpet beneath her feet was plush and managed to block out the vibrating of the engines like the door had. Larsa tipped his head toward her, silently acknowledging her presence. He patted the cream cushion of the sofa beside him. Offering her a seat? No way.

"Why?"

The word was whispered, the only one to make it through her arsenal.

A hollow laugh escaped him, choked back almost as quickly as it had come. "Is that all? _Why_?" He waited for her to answer, a brow arched and his lips twisted in a mix of amusement and the stirrings of anger.

Penelo allowed herself a jerky nod.

"Which _why_ would you like answered? There are a great many." Since she wasn't taking the seat he initially gestured to—no way in hell—he waved his hand toward one of the other seats in the room, chairs with claws for legs. The things were frightening, in no way inviting.

But because her legs wouldn't hold her for much longer, damn the shaking things, she sat in the closest one to her, also conveniently the farthest away from him. She was quiet for a time after that, simply staring down at her hands, maybe for a full five minutes. She wasn't entirely sure. All she knew was that she could hear each heartbeat in her ears over the roaring of her blood.

Those minutes crawled past as she played words over and over again in her head, only to discard each one like the useless weapons they were. The fact of the matter was, she didn't _want_ to fight with Larsa. She cared for him deeply, and the yearlong separation had torn her in places she hadn't known she could hurt. But he hurt her. He abused the very foundation of their friendship. So as much as she was loathe to argue, she couldn't just… pretend everything was _all right_ again.

"Penelo?" Larsa prompted.

"I don't know," she said, quietly, mostly speaking to herself. Her hands twisted in her lap. "All of them? I don't—I don't understand any of this!"

Larsa closed his book, page marked with a piece of red ribbon. "There is not much to understand," he replied, just as softly. "Your nation has need of you. Is the sacrifice enduring of my presence so great?"

"Yes!" Penelo sprang to her feet, gesturing at her clothes, her hair. For the trip, she'd changed back into a pair of comfortable trousers, and her hair was back in its usual braids. Though none of it was as bad as it might have been when she'd been nothing but another orphan on the street, it was working-woman's clothing: a little worn at the hems, frayed here and there, patched well but patched all the same. Next to the gilt and velvet of Larsa's sitting room, she was as out of place as a cockatrice in a silk gown. "This isn't me! I'm not meant for these things! Ashe has ladies in waiting—she has advisors and counselors and ambassadors! You should have taken one of them!"

As she spoke, Larsa's face closed in on itself. His expression, which had been almost open, turned into a blank slate that could have been hiding anything. "Should I?"

A shiver ran through her. Larsa had never been able to hide from her like that before. It was unnatural. "Yes."

He nodded, eyes dropping to the book in his lap. Long, gloved fingers ran over the cover, twisting across the title: _The Descent of the Archadian Emperors_. His fingers then trailed down to the end of the ribbon that dangled from between its pages. "I see."

She waited to hear more, but nothing came. Larsa didn't speak, didn't so much as glance at her. He seemed absorbed in his thoughts, as if he'd forgotten she was even there. Or as if he were ignoring her.

The thought made her livid. After what he'd done to her, he was going to give her the cold shoulder? She wanted to smack him, to reel back and plant a good one right on that damned prominent nose of his. Anything to get a reaction. "That's it?" Penelo's voice rose in frustrated demand. "That's _it_? You _see_? Fat lot of good that does us!"

"What would you have me do?" he asked, still not looking up. "It is too late for us both. Had I known you... felt thus, I could have handled matters long ago, before this became an issue."

Penelo stared at him in utter confusion, rage dying to a simmer. A creeping, sickening feeling slid through her, along with the suspicion that they were having two very different conversations. "Handled matters?"

"Yes." Finally, he looked up, and his smile was even worse than the lack of expression from before. It was cold and tight, nearly a grimace. "As it stands, we must both be trapped with our mistakes, for at least a while longer."

Turning, Penelo scrubbed a hand over her face. The magicite lamps glimmered prettily, which was better than looking at _him_. "Biggest mistake of my life," she muttered.

She'd thought she been quiet, but she heard Larsa take a sharp breath behind her. When she turned back, his head was bowed, hands clenched around the book in his lap. "If that is how you feel, you are free to leave my presence, _Princess_."

A fist squeezed her heart. "Larsa—"

Surging to his feet, he threw the book away, sending it spinning into a wall. The binding cracked, spilling paper across the floor. "I said _leave_!"

A pair of Imperials opened the door at the noise, shouting Larsa's name. Penelo dashed through them. One tried to grab her arm, but she slipped down, sliding along the slick tile, then bouncing off a wall to roll to her feet. In a flash, she was through the doors and gone.

* * *

It was only after, in the silence of her own chambers, that Penelo allowed the first tears to trickle free. Breathing fast from her run, she slumped against the wall near her bed, then slid down it until she was sitting. From there, she curled up into a fetal position, locking her arms over her head.

The hours passed. Several times, servants knocked to ask if she was ready to eat. She never answered them, preferring instead to cry herself senseless. But eventually, there weren't any tears left, just the dry, empty sobs echoing in her ears.

What had happened to them?

Was everything between them ruined?

He had never shouted at her that way before… never looked so furious, so hurt…

She wanted to be angry. But there wasn't anything left inside of her that felt even close to the kindling of rage. Cold stretched through her heart instead, vast and bottomless. She rolled onto her back, peering up at the ceiling, folding her hands over her stomach. She sniffled, her face sticky from long dried tears.

That he felt so angry implied that she'd been wrong about his feelings regarding the matter of That Night. And if she was wrong about that… then what did the last year mean? The last year she'd spent stewing over, agonizing over, hating him over?

_Nothing,_ she thought, quietly even inside of her own mind.

It meant nothing.


	3. The Things Unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delay here is entirely Vash's Girl's fault. Sorry!!

Larsa stared out the window, hands locked behind his back. Rain pattered against the glass, big fat drops that snaked their way down until they were lost amid a flood of their brethren. Below, the grand city of Archades vanished under a blanket of gray, the fog so thick it could be cut by a knife. Only the Palace stood above it all, to weather the storm as a faithful sentinel. 

Gloomy days were rare jewels in the Imperial City, which was given more to sunshine and warm breezes than to the muddle of poor weather. Seeing his home so shrouded brought back memories that were, perhaps, best forgotten, and yet as persistent as a steeling in a cave. 

_He hid behind the drapes, curled up tight in the window seat. Outside, the wind howled and the sky cried, as if even the weather mourned the loss of two emperors. It suited his mood, the rain matching the tears on his cheeks. The loss of his father and brother was still fresh, and the crown terribly heavy. Most days he was able to bear up, to straighten his back and present a facsimile of strength, but that day he'd woken feeling weak and off-balance._

_Just then, he would have paid in blood to feel his brother's hand on his shoulder, or to hear his father's voice._

_His Imperials would be looking for him, he knew. They'd never been so frantic when he vanished as merely a lord, but as the Emperor, they were strict in their duties. Basch—Gabranth—especially. The man took his vow seriously, and Larsa could only be grateful for his care, but he needed a moment to himself. And how he needed it. There was no space for weakness anymore in his life, no room to mourn. A child-emperor could be nothing but vigilant, lest the carrion eaters of the court swoop down upon him._

_"Larsa!" a familiar voice called, soft and sweet in what he knew to be an attempt to lure him out. "Larsaaaaaa!"_

_Larsa curled in tighter, listening as Penelo's voice and footsteps drew closer. It was no surprise when the curtain was ripped back to reveal her smiling face._

_"Boo! Found you!"_

_Before he could escape or ask her to leave, she pounced, fingers seeking his tender ribs. Dignity slipped through his grasp as he squealed, twisting to try and free himself. Her attack went on mercilessly, until the tears that ran down his cheeks were fresh with laughter._

_"Pe—Pene—lo! St—sto—stop!"_

_She relented with clear reluctance, wiggling until she was perched behind him, arms wrapped tight around his waist. The movement all but forced him to settle under her chin with his back pressed to her chest. Between that and her arms it was... soothing, almost. Not the comfort he most desperately craved, though. Nothing would be that anymore._

_"What are you moping about?" Penelo asked, as if she didn't know, hadn't stood beside him two months before as the remains of his brother had been lowered into the ground. Her arms rocked him a little, squeezing him close. Then she reached out and carefully tugged the curtain closed once more. "Hey, I have a story."_

_"A story?" Larsa endeavored to appear composed, adult. Of all people, he most desperately didn't want Penelo thinking him weak. She was one of the few friends he had left in the world. "What sort of story?"_

_"A fun one. What else?" Once again she squeezed him, long legs bracketing his hips as she started to speak. Her voice rolled with just the right cadences for a really good storyteller. Before he knew it, he fell into the rhythm of her words._

_They spent the rest of the day like that, until the clouds cleared and Archades returned, washed clean and brilliant in the light of the setting sun._

"You wanted to see me?" 

Larsa turned slowly from the window, taking a moment to gather his composure. The memory had dragged him under, wearing thin at the walls he'd put up until he'd been left soft and vulnerable to his surroundings. The last thing he wanted was for Penelo to see him like that—she no longer had a right to it, his trust with her on thin ice. 

But temptation proved more damning than usual when his eyes fell upon her. She was a sight he'd always privately welcomed, with her golden curls framing her perfectly oval face, and a petite body honed by hours and hours of dance. Those little hands of hers had cured many ills, that rosebud mouth had formed many sharp reprimands to those who needed to be reminded of their place in life. No nonsense, that was Penelo. But if she knew you, if she cared for you, she could give you the most beautiful smile… 

"Yes." Not meeting her eyes, Larsa strode over to his desk and pretended to peruse some paperwork. In truth, he'd never been more ahead of the legislation that fell into his lap daily. He'd needed distractions these past twelve months, five days, and six hours. The perceived plights of his lords and ladies of the realm certainly helped in that regard. 

An awkward, strained silence. 

"Well…?" Penelo prompted. 

"It's about your new quarters. You will no longer be housed in the guest wing." 

An inhalation of breath, sharply drawn. 

Before she could interrupt, Larsa continued. "Your new chambers will be in the Imperial Wing, not far from my own." 

"The _Imperial_ —?" Penelo cut herself off. Her hands reached for him, lowered, fisted. Then they ran through her hair in a gesture of what was unmistakably agitation. "Fine." 

Larsa's eyes lifted. He hadn't expected such an easy response. "'Fine'?" 

"Yes, fine," she snapped, and the wonderful blue of her eyes flashed a warning at him, quick as the lightning bolts she'd used to strike down the white wolves at the Paramina Rift. "Although I'm not really sure why I need rooms in the _Imperial_ Wing, if I'm supposed to be some sort of ambassador—" 

"You are a princess of Dalmasca, Penelo, and as such—" 

"But the _Imperial_ Wing is for _family_ members, not—" 

"—I will not place you in rooms beneath your station—" 

"—princesses of another nation—" 

"PENELO!" Larsa's hand slammed down so hard on his desk that papers flew and Penelo jumped. They stared at one another across the room, Larsa with fury gnawing incessantly at his chest, Penelo with slightly quivering lips. The hurt in her gaze alone made him want to take everything back, to say he was sorry, but he had his country to protect. What he'd said to her on the airship remained true. They must see this through together, bear this burden for just a while longer. 

"Please," he said calmly, and it took an alarming amount of effort. Penelo had never tried his patience so. 

"Please what?" she rasped. 

"Please do not question _every_ single one of my objectives." 

The first threads of anger touched the corners of her eyes again. "Larsa, I just found out that I'm a _princess_ now, that it'll be treason to not be standing in this very room with you, and now, when I just want a minute alone of peace, you're locking me away in the imperial wing with some half-assed explanation that you think will appease me for the time being." She took a step closer to the desk. "You're right. We were friends… once. Isn't that what you told me in Rabanastre?" 

Though he had indeed said them, the words still cut at his heart like shards of the scattered remnants of their friendship. 

"So give me two seconds to breathe!" she went on. "The old Penelo could have laughed with you, not gotten angry at your 'objectives,' but this Penelo is really upset, Larsa!" 

"I do not care," he said in as cold of a voice as he could muster. 

Penelo looked as if she'd been plunged headfirst in the waters of the Silverflow. "E… Excuse me?" 

"We have important matters to discuss, your room arrangements being one of them. I need you to understand your position before rumors begin, and you come to me later, even more flustered, because you do not understand what they mean." It was easier than he would have thought to steel his heart against her. "Please do not make this more difficult than it has to be, Penelo." 

She stared at him, blue eyes going wide, teeth peeking out from behind her lips. "Rumors?" Rage colored her pretty cheeks with roses, not so different in rage as they were in passion. "I understand exactly what they mean, and there wouldn't be any if you would just let me stay in the guest wing!"

His jaw tightened into a grimace. Anger burned low in his stomach, fueling the fervor with which he spoke. "You are the one who wishes this undone with such vehemence. I cannot do that and simultaneously pretend what has happened has no legal repercussions. We must survive together, the two of us, until such time as we are as free from legal bonds as we so evidently are those of friendship. Am I clear, or would you prefer it in writing?" 

Penelo stood stock still, her fingers twisting as if to reach for a spellstone. For a moment, he almost wished she would. If she attacked him in his own office, there was ample precedent...

But her shoulders dropped, along with her eyes. Her hand went to her wrist where the dratted, bedraggled length of scarlet ribbon fluttered with her movement, taunting him. As he watched, she collected her dignity around her like a cloak, not meeting his eye again until her expression had returned to steel.

"You have made yourself very clear," she ground out in a voice sharp as the winter wind. "What else is it you wanted to talk about?" 

If Larsa had been a more faithful man, he might have dared believe that the worst was behind him. Unfortunately, he knew Penelo better than that. "We must address your attire."

Predictably, Penelo stiffened again. Tension vibrated between them. For a moment, he almost feared she would climb over his desk to slap him again. If forcing her to sleep in the same wing as himself had been an outrage, this was an insult. "Some of us don't have the benefit of piles of gil," she snapped, fists clenched. "My clothes are fine." 

In better times, Larsa might have softened, perhaps offered gifts to make up for her lacking. Fine jewels and gowns, rare scents from far-off lands... Before their falling out, he'd found joy in pressing upon her whatever trinket he could that might bring a smile to her face.

But he couldn't afford softness. He'd already lost too much to it. "You have resources now. Ashe has provided a hefty sum for your benefit, and a stipend from my own personal accounts was included in our agreement. A seamstress will be by to make certain you use it, and there are personnel available to assist you in any shopping you might care to do."

" _Assist_ me?" Penelo's voice darkened into a growl that could have put shame to many of the evils they'd once faced together. "What, you think I can't dress myself?"

"I _think_ that you are unaccustomed to Archadian fashion," he snapped back, "and have no wish for you to make a fool of us both out of ignorance."

"I see," she said. "Then I'd better get to it. Don't want to _embarrass_ you." Her nostrils flared, the color in her cheeks fading to a pallor that only made the fury in her eyes that much more vivid. "May I be dismissed, Your Grace?" 

There were still matters to attend—paperwork and agreements, her signature needed on several documents. In spite of all that, Larsa nodded shortly and lowered his eyes to his paperwork. Lines blurred before his eyes, numbers and code frayed into meaninglessness. "A servant will see you to your new quarters." 

He didn't see her leave, only heard the soft pad of her slippers on the marble, the creak of the hinges and, finally, a tap as the door closed. Left in her wake was a heavy, aching silence, a dirge of memories and feelings which were better off dead.

_The biggest mistake of my life._

* * *

The footman bowed low from the doorway, not stepping foot into Larsa's study. "Sir, you requested to be informed when the Princess was settled in her rooms."

"Indeed I did." Larsa's thumb rubbed along the length of his pen, considering the pile of documents before him. Arrangements for Penelo's accounts were foremost among them. Nothing of dramatic import, seeing as his own underused funds were available for her, but he'd hoped that having a separate and secure source of income would calm some of her frustrations. He, more than most, knew how poorly Penelo dealt with being trapped in a corner. 

But how much of his desire was born of avoidance, and how much from dedication? His argument with Penelo had been brutal, in a word. But tongues would wag if he failed to even take note of her comfort.

That did not have to be immediate, however. "I will be along when I have a moment."

"Very good, sir." The footman dipped lower and backed out, all without raising his eyes. Sighing, Larsa returned his attention to the matter of finances.

Hours passed before Larsa signed the final document, laying it into a folder of similar. Then he rose, back and hips cracking from leaning over his desk for too long without pause. As a child, he'd wondered at his father's pleasure in standing when chairs were available; now he knew intimately why that was. He took a moment to stretch and pop his joints, until his posture was again firm and he no longer felt the need to limp. Then he gathered up Penelo's documents to his chest and set out. 

The afternoon had withered away while he worked. Larsa found his steps slowing, as much for the enjoyment of the walk as to delay the inevitable. Afternoon light slanted through the ample windows of the palace, flooding hallways and giving warmth to cold stone. The plants that decorated sitting nooks filled the air with the scent of flowers, while the accompanying fountains added a music no mere musician could match. Delicate statues were tucked aside, and the lush rug underfoot added color to the halls. 

Scarlet and jet dominated, of course, but here and there were touches of former empresses, who traditionally had full control over matters of the wing. In one place a stained window depicting mermaids along a beach colored the walls in a rainbow of color. In another a sun seat decorated in the violet of a long-ended royal line. Of them all, his favorite was a small line of gold that danced in and out of the tiles, peeking out from the rugs like a child hiding behind his mother's skirts. His own mother had decided on those changes while she'd been pregnant with him, he'd been told. Had, in fact, ripped apart the entire wing to ensure that her pattern was laid precisely as she'd wished.

It wasn't until one of the papers slipped from Penelo's packet that he realized he'd stopped to stare down at the floor. The tip of his boot nudged a tile that had somehow been smudged with dirt, its metallic glint faded.

Kneeling down, he pushed aside the edge of the rug and rubbed the spot with his thumb until it shined bright once more. The brown mark was even more visible against his bone-white glove, but it didn't matter. Gloves could be washed. Memories could not.

Leaving remembrance behind, he stood and finished the trek without looking down again. 

Windows turned to thick walls, which were safer by far for the imperial inhabitants within. Carpets vanished, so even the lightest footstep echoed. Guards grew thick, placed at every corner. They saluted as he passed, not one of them so much as smirking, though they surely knew what such an unusual arrangement suggested.

Penelo's rooms were only across the hall from his own, something that she no doubt had noticed. With any luck, she would not comment on it. That was a conversation he did not think he could survive after so tumultuous a day. Her Imperials stood at attention, finely wrought armor agleam in the glow of magicite lamps. Larsa paused before the grand double doors, stomach twisting in on itself and his heart threatening war within his breast. 

For all his years on the throne, trials passed and troubles dealt with decisively, yet Penelo still had the power to return him to childhood.

He didn't turn his head as he said, "Announce me."

One of the Imperials nodded, the gesture oddly familiar even with the man's face hidden behind a helm. Turning, he opened the door and stepped inside, the sound of quiet conversation carrying out into the hall. When the imperial turned with another stiff nod, Larsa saw himself into Penelo's new chambers, back straight and chin lifted. 

The years hadn't changed the rooms at all since they were his mother's. He nearly wondered what sort of changes Penelo would make to them, but he cut the thought off at its knees. Penelo didn't want to stay long enough to make changes. That was the entire source of their conflict. 

"Princess Penelo." He bowed as well as he could with a thick sheaf of papers held against his chest. Behind him, he heard the Imperial close the door, leaving them utterly alone, without warden or gossipmonger to stay their tongues. Larsa wondered if he should be pleased or terrified. "I trust that your rooms are to your liking." 

Penelo looked ruffled. Not in the sense that her hackles were up, as they had been in his study. It was more as if she'd been in the middle of doing something, and once the Imperial had announced Larsa's presence, she'd beat a hasty retreat into the main sitting room. To lend credit to this theory, she was clearly out of breath, and her hands kept smoothing over her attire in what could only be described as a nervous twitch. 

As the silence spread, Larsa let his gaze wander over the sitting room. There was a beautifully upholstered sofa nearby, with throw pillows placed in perfect position along it, their golden tassels matching the vibrant scarlet hue of the furniture. The table placed before it was low and deep ebony, made entirely of glass. A giant vase housed a bouquet of Galbana lilies, something he had seen to before his trip to Rabanastre, and he was now sure she wouldn't appreciate the reminder of her home country at all. 

To Penelo's immediate left was a fainting couch, done up in the same colors as the rest of the upholstery. Beneath it was a thick, plush carpet that spread along the entire floor, leaving only a hint of marble peeking out around the borders of the room, threaded with the gold that lined the corridors of this wing. 

He was so immersed in avoiding Penelo's gaze, that he missed whatever prompted her next chilling words. "I get it, Larsa." 

Larsa blinked and shifted his attention to her. She might have been holding spellstone, for the wrap of ice that shivered around his heart from her tone. Idly, he recognized that he'd been making plenty of connections between cold weather and Penelo, but it wasn't something to be helped. Since her arrival, she had become the epitome of such a thing. She could rival the bitter winters Archades often saw.

"You hate me now. I'm a burden. I've caused you some terrible grief. Well, forgive _me_ for leaving a year ago because I thought you were a heartless bastard." 

Never before had Larsa had to nearly bite his tongue in half to keep from lashing out at her. His restraint wasn't for her benefit; it was for his own. Even now, he still couldn't ignore the ache in his heart when he looked upon her, and he knew that if he was too rash, it would only haunt him. 

"A heartless bastard? Is that what you call it?" He straightened, taking great care to keep his expression firm. He refused to break again before her. She had too many weapons lodged in his heart as it were. 

He had the faint satisfaction of seeing her flinch. "What do you want of me, Penelo? I came only to see to your comfort, and to provide you with your necessary paperwork. If there is ought else in my power that will appease you, do let me know, as I have been seeking such for quite some time now, and I fear it a hopeless quest." 

At that, her jaw set. Several moments of silence passed, in which many a painful expression crossed her face, before she spoke again. "You want to know what you can do?" She jutted her chin forward. "All right." A stiff nod, and she went to the sofa, fingering the frayed ribbon about her wrist, a sight that still had Larsa's nerves coil like a threatened snake. 

Not once glance in his direction. Even when she sat, she spoke instead to the centerpiece at the coffee table, her tone low, silk over steel. "Tell me why you slept with me, knowing we can't be together. Knowing that to do so would only be leading me on, thinking we could have something, thinking—" Her voice broke, and she stopped. Fighting not to cry before him? 

Abruptly, she rose. "Just leave the paperwork, Larsa. I'll make sure it's signed. And sure." She gestured to the room at large. "I'm comfortable." 

"Leading you—" He couldn't breathe. 

Did she think that? That he had led her on? Did she not _know_? 

His world, unstable enough since the death of his family, spun out from under his feet. He wanted to ask what happened that night—what she _thought_ happened that night. But there was a horror climbing in his throat, sinking its claws into his chest, that said it was too late to know. 

_She hates me._

_She hates me for the sake of a lie._

And there was no fixing it now. 

"Of course." For all his oral lessons on how to address his empire, he'd never heard his voice sound so raspy and out of place. His head was throbbing double time, and he was having trouble picking out one thing from another, like the carpet and the tapestries, because no matter where he looked, all he could see… 

_A piece of ribbon, wound around their wrists—_

"The papers." A sharp shake of his head and a brittle smile, and Larsa set them down on an end table. "I… will not keep you, then." 

Was it his imagination, the faintest hint of laughter at his ears, his name said on a warm sigh? 

"Good afternoon, Penelo." Bowing his head, he turned on his heel to go. 

"I thought I was in love with you, you know." 

The words were soft, so soft Larsa almost missed them, lost as he was in his memories of that cursed night. 

"Silly, right?" A pause. And when no answer was forthcoming, "Good afternoon, Larsa." 

He waited until he heard the click of her bedroom door, signifying she'd left the room and locked him out. He looked down at where his gloved fingers were wrapped about the metal of the doorknob to these chambers. 

"I thought you were, too," he said, in words barely above a whisper. 

Swallowing down his pain, he took the extra step to leave. He needed to make preparations for the secondary solution, and… 

And to end what had been done, before it caused them any more grief.

* * *

A sharp clang of steel against marbled floor, and a groan of frustration. 

" _Again_ , Your Grace." Gabranth, as he had been for nearly six years now, swung his sword out to his side. His voice was perfectly muffled by his helmet, and that suited Larsa just fine. He didn't want to see the other man's face and the disapproval that would no doubt be found in them. 

The young emperor picked himself up off the ground and bent to retrieve his sword. "I have already told you, I am hardly in the mood for this." 

"An enemy will care not for your _moods_." The Judge Magister fell into an attacking stance. " _En garde_." 

Sweat streamed down Larsa's face as he fought to parry Gabranth's blows. This was unexpected. On a normal day of the week, he was at his finest, often a challenging foe. A man who fought fairly would have trouble keeping up with him, and one who didn't would find that Larsa had his own arsenal of dirty tactics to see him through a battle. 

Today, however, was different. In the last year, Larsa's resolve to keep his sword arm trained had kept him going, each swipe of his choice of weapon cutting through another of the memories that haunted him. But after last night's confrontation with Penelo, and the softly whispered words to his back, telling him she'd thought she'd loved him, once upon a time… It was damnably distracting, much more than he cared for. 

He spun, twisting his wrist, feet falling into the proper dance steps—

Gabranth wasn't there. 

A harsh shove to his side, and his sword went flying again as he lost his balance and crashed anew to the ground. The jar of it made his teeth clank together, reverberating down the length of his spine. Annoyed, Larsa looked up in time to see Gabranth lowering his helmet. 

Blue eyes were frosted with disappointment and only the faintest traces of annoyance. "What happened?" 

"I do not know of that which you speak," Larsa muttered sullenly. 

Gabranth's hand connected with the side of his head, pushing. "Do not be a fool, Larsa. Although perhaps after today's performance, that might be too kind a word—" 

"Stay your tongue, Gabranth!" Larsa shouted heatedly up at him, his temper, always in the wings lately, rising eagerly to the fore. He climbed back to his feet. "I told you I had no care to do this today!" 

"Yes…" Already icy eyes hardened into chips. "I can see that. As you will, Your Grace." Gabranth sheathed his broadsword across his back. With a curt bow, he spun on his heel and left, boots clicking all the way out. 

Larsa cursed and ran fingers through his sweaty hair. Though he'd asked for—pressed for!—freedom from Gabranth's attentions, he found himself wanting to call the man back. The contradiction was the distilled essence of the way his past week had been. 

"A bit peaked, are we, Emperor Larsa?" 

"I fear that those of us with care for our duties and titles find ourselves tired by the drag of certain layabouts who avoid theirs." The voice was so familiar, so detested in its sly tone that Larsa didn't bother to hide his distaste as he turned. "What can I do for you, Ffamran?" 

"I rather think it is what I can do for you, Sire." The scion of Bunasa was, unusually, dressed in full court attire. His cravat was crisp, gloves white and the shine on his boots unparalleled. It was a far cry from his usual costume. But one had only to look at his posture to know he no longer belonged. He slouched, arms crossed and lips twisted in an unholy smirk. "I thought you might like to know what your recently acquired Princess of Dalmasca is up to."

"She's investigating the Emperor's Library," Larsa answered promptly, and then privately cursed himself. Ffamran had no need to know Penelo's whereabouts, nor that Larsa had been keeping close track of them. Who knew what foul intention lurked in Ffamran's head?

But the elemental was, unfortunately, unleashed, so he drew himself up to look the man firmly in the eye. "Her Imperials escorted her to them this morning after she broke her fast. I assume she is still there. Though, understandably, I cannot have you shown to her." Larsa smiled condescendingly, tilting his head in an entirely false show of regret. "Only members of the Imperial family are permitted, you see. Perhaps you would care to wait for her in one of the public drawing rooms?"

Ffamran's smile could have cut magicite. "I think you misunderstand. An hour or so ago, I happened upon Penelo in a tavern in Trant, well-marinated and buying rounds for the whole building. It occurred to me you might wish to know, but..." He shrugged eloquently and batted his eyes like a court maiden.

Metal clinked as the eternally present Imperials who guarded Larsa's every move straightened with interest at this news. They were too professional to immediately begin to gossip about the news. They'd understood the implications when Penelo had been assigned her own escort. This would only fuel their fires of curiosity. Soldiers were worse than oldsters.

Larsa felt their attention on him, sharp as blades. Worse was the twisting, ill sensation crawling up his throat. "She is her own woman," he said after a long, painful moment, keeping his voice level and his expression bland. "Tell me, did you see her guards at the door?"

"I fear not, Your Grace." 

"On the walls?"

"No, Sire."

"At her side?" 

"Afraid not."

That clenched it. With fingers that trembled, Larsa stripped off the bulky chest padding Gabranth insisted he wear, discarding it off to the side for a servant to care for. "I want an imperial aircab readied," he ordered the nearest Imperial sharply. "The Princess's guard is to be found and held until Judge Magister Gabranth deals with their punishment for dereliction of duty. Lord Bunasa," his attention fixated on Ffamran, "will give you any information you need on the specific tavern in question. We leave immediately for Trant."

The Imperial saluted sharply before turning to Ffamran and gesturing at him to follow, which the sky pirate did without so much as a blink. As soon as the man was out of sight, Larsa leaned forward to brace himself on his knees, head hanging low and breath coming in long, unsteady gasps. 

Penelo, his Penelo, unguarded and drunk in a strange city with no idea what she was risking or who might want her harmed. Playing the fool, sneaking out, putting herself at risk...

He was going to be ill. 

_No time to play the lovelorn, Larsa,_ he chided himself, drawing upright. _You have a princess to rescue from her fool self._


End file.
